Beneath the Veil of Conviction
by Winterbranch
Summary: Hermione goes into hiding with a pureblood professor. HGSS
1. Juliet Elixir

Disclaimer: JK is the one with the creativity, not me. (Applicable for all chapters)

* * *

If one found any interest in peeking through the window of the headmaster's office at two in the morning on the eve of November 26, he would have seen absolutely nothing but Snape returning from a nightly harvest of Hart's Tongue Fern. A thick fog shrouded the forest and grounds, which made his dark, cloaked form both easy and nearly impossible to spot. No moon lit the sky, or at least none that could be seen through the fog; that is, if anyone cared to notice. This is how Albus Dumbledore knew the Juliet Elixir was nearing completion before Snape said a word.

"Headmaster, the potion should be completed by the end of the week. However, for it to remain intact, it needs to be ingested within two days. How can we be assured there will be a meeting in that time?" Snape sat facing the wizard.

"I will owl my father. He expects me to be initiated over Christmas break. I'll simply say I am growing impatient and am able to sneak out this weekend." The voice came from his right, from what Dumbledore entitled, 'The Secret Weapon.'

"Good, Draco, and apparate separately from Severus. After the initiation, you will return with his body, correct?" Albus stroked his beard.

"Yes, I intend to direct the killing curse slightly to his right, while he bursts the potion capsule in his mouth. The elixir should make him appear dead for ten hours, plenty of time for the revel to end and for us to return."

"I see-"

"Albus, should we inform Miss Granger of the plan?" Snape questioned.

"No, Severus, the risk is too high. Let her believe you are dead until she joins you in hiding. I'm sure you can explain everything to her after that." Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle momentarily as he caught Snape's gaze.

Snape's lips thinned as he inclined his head. "Very well, then," he murmured, glancing at the illuminating sky. "If you will excuse me, Albus, the potion is finished simmering and I have a class of second years in less than one hour. Headmaster, Draco…" he exited the office before Dumbledore opened his mouth.

Rounding the corner near Gryffindor tower, he collided with a short someone whose books crashed to the stone floor, leaving echoes to reverberate throughout the hallway. The girl stood up and smoothed her robes as Snape gathered her reading.

"Professor," she acknowledged him as he stood, handing her the books and resuming his scowl.

"Miss Granger, I believe running in the halls is prohibited. Five points from Gryffindor." Snape smirked slightly at his voice. Hermione straightened and narrowed her eyes.

"But professor, I wasn't running…"

"Would you like me to take off ten?" His smirk grew wider as did her eyes. She held her books to her chest and hurried around the corner. His lungs finally emptied as he placed a finger to his temple. The girl was so ignorant, so unsullied and so often brilliant. In a few months, that would all change. Better to drink of her now, before the hiding, he affirmed as he returned to the dungeons.


	2. Chapter 2

A month had passed since the night when Professor Snape died. Hermione folded a thick moss green jumper by hand and placed it neatly into her trunk. Some muggle habits never die, she smiled.

It was a bleak November morning when she had awoken; the lawns outside her window were damp from a night of steady rain, and the ceiling in the Great Hall mirrored the covered sky. Hardly anyone had come in for breakfast; Harry and Ron were still asleep, and the faculty all sported thick plum shadows under their eyes, even Dumbledore himself. The Slytherins who happened to be in the hall possessed an unusual amount of gaiety, and Malfoy just couldn't stop smiling. Something was amiss from the beginning.

In double potions with Slytherin, Dumbledore came to speak to the students about the events of the night before. It had been a Death Eater revel, when Snape was uncovered as a spy for the Ministry, and he was instantly killed. No body was recovered. A memorial service was held in the late professor's honor in the Great Hall, where a surprising majority of the students ended up in tears, even Hermione herself. The largest surprise, however, came from Neville Longbottom. He shared with the Gryffindor table how Snape had recently provided him with personal tutoring and independent study in a fusion of potions and herbology, while remaining kind, understanding, and patient with the boy.

Draco's story, which was related to her in Care of Magical Creatures, turned out to be quite different, if not more involved. It had been his initiation into the Death Eaters, and he even had the Dark Mark to prove it. Snape's association with the Ministry had been known to his father for some time, so for an initiation gift, he was granted permission to dispose of his professor personally. The discussion between Malfoy and herself ended with Malfoy in the hospital wing and Hermione in detention for a week.

She smiled again mournfully as she stroked Crookshanks's thick fur. A sneakoscope from Mad-Eye Moody went in the trunk, as well as some photos of the Creevy brothers, Parvati and Lavender, all the staff, and many of Harry, Ron, Lupin, and the late Sirius. Even one of Malfoy, Pansy, Millicent, Crabbe, and Goyle found its way in among the stack.

After the initial reaction of shock, anger, and denial, a strange, empty coldness settled into her flesh. The potions classroom lacked warmth and smelled so astringent without the subtle musk, spicy scent of pepper-up potion, and soft cleanliness that traveled with Professor Snape. It slept in silent disarray, without the biting wit and scathing tongue of its former inhabitant it lost its character. With the arrival of Professor Lionel Furrowind, a former alchemist with a beard to rival Dumbledore's, the potion ingredients became jumbled and mixed, and defects in potions went unnoticed behind his thick spectacles. After every class, Hermione found herself feeling increasingly more alone.

She remembered once when, after a particularly ugly potions lesson, she found herself atop a slab of rock overlooking the lake, weeping for the professor, weeping for the Order's cause, and weeping for the hardships yet to come. The truth was, he wasn't a bad teacher, not by a long shot. He always challenged his students until the end, and oh, she would have given anything to bring him back.

So maybe this explained the pixies in her stomach. Three days ago, she had received an owl from Dumbledore to meet with him, and upon arrival in his office, (the password was Ton Tongue Toffee, as the Weasley creation was a hit with the headmaster) encountered not only Dumbledore, but Moody, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Lupin, and Professor Furrowind. The first revelation in her meeting was that Furrowind happened to be none other than Tonks in disguise, posing as a professor to keep an eye both on Harry and Ron, but also on the young Slytherins. The second, and perhaps the more important, was that Snape survived. The death of the potions professor turned out to be staged by Draco, who was working with the Order, and Snape, because too much information was capable of being revealed through him. The killing curse that Malfoy sent at Snape actually deflected, and at that precise moment, Snape burst a capsule containing the fabled Juliet Elixir, capable of killing a person for ten hours, in his mouth. It was all so overwhelming.

Hermione rolled up the rest of her spare parchment and fit it inside the trunk next to the stack of photos and enormous sack from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was to be her Christmas present from Fred and George, and she had hesitations about opening it. Harry's present went in next- it was smallish and light, wrapped in beautiful crimson and tied with hair from a unicorn's mane.

All this information had been revealed to her for a reason, of course. The war was looming closer and closer, and Hermione was the Dark Lord's second target. The safest thing for everyone at this point was for her to go into hiding with Snape, with Dumbledore as a secret keeper.

She was to leave on the Hogwarts Express with the students for Christmas Break, under the pretense of visiting her parents over the holidays. Her disappearance would be explained as a mystery after holidays, even to some of the staff.

Although the prospect of living without Harry and Ron for a long period of time was disheartening, to say the least, she was secretly glad and anxious to see Snape again. She needed to make sure he was real, to know in a world where so much changed so soon, something remained constant.

Her goodbyes with Harry and Ron had been made in the dim firelight of the Gryffindor common room the night before, and although it was a grim and emotional experience, it only reinforced the knowledge Hermione preferred to hold in her heart- the strength of their friendship.

She picked up the faded copy of _Hogwarts- a History_ that Madame Pince finally gave to her as a parting gift, the one that hadn't been borrowed from the library for fifty years until she came, the one she checked out twenty times. The leather spine was cracking, and an interesting grayish splotch adorned the cover. She loved it very much. Needless to say, it went in the trunk as well.

As Hermione finally threw Molly Weasley's bundled fruitcake into her trunk, she heard a sharp rapping on the door of the dormitory. Minerva McGonagall stood at the entrance, wand in hand.

"Hermione, you've had three hours to pack; I daresay that's enough time. Come on, now, the train is leaving in ten minutes."

"Yes, professor…" Hermione took one last look around the cozy Gryffindor dormitory and cast a levitating charm over her trunk. It was time to descend underground.

.oOo.

It was a few moments later when Hermione sat in the familiar armchair at Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore held up a tattered book with the title: "Primordial Potions- the Apothecaries of Sumer."

Hermione gasped. "Headmaster, do you realize there were only twenty-three copies of this book printed? It's extremely rare!"

"It's a gift for Professor Snape, for some light reading. However, I imagine he will allow you to borrow it," Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled. "It also happens to be your portkey. I wish I could tell you where you're headed, but you understand…" he said apologetically.

"Of course, Headmaster." Hermione ran up to the wizard and embraced him, before taking the book in one hand, trunk in the other. "And you have my letters for Harry and Ron?"

"Yes dear, take care!" He called as Hermione jerked forward.

She stumbled into a small room that appeared to be kitchen, sitting area, library, and dining room all in one. At the frugal wooden table sat the gaunt figure of Professor Snape, brows furrowed, quill scratching furiously at a piece of parchment. Hermione clutched the book to her chest and drew a breath.

"Hello, Professor."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note:

Thanks all reviewers, you guys are the best!Edit 03/03/07: I have been going back over this story and decided to combine chapters 3 and 4. I hope to rework the story from here and maybe continue it.

_Flower in the crannied wall,  
I pluck you out of the crannies,  
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,  
Little flower -but if I could understand  
What you are, root and all, and all in all,  
I should know what God and man is.  
_

* * *

Hermione waited for his response with drawn breath. The shaggy black hair hung over his face until he swept it away with his free hand, gave a curt "Miss Granger," and resumed his work. This was less than surprising for the Potions Master, she reasoned, but still had hoped for something more personal. Instead, she returned a small huff, raised her nose, and dropped onto the couch with her book. Fully absorbed with the preface, she failed to notice the subtle shake of his head as he wrote and the small smirk that touched his lips.

An hour or so passed before the silence was broken with an unfeminine growl from Hermione's stomach. While Hermione didn't want to interrupt the professor, whose somber demeanor created a cloud of tension that permeated the entire kitchen area, she was extremely hungry. She stood, leaving the book face down on the sofa, and reached for a shiny apple from the bowl on Snape's table. As she lifted her wand to cast a severing charm on it, Snape stood and grabbed it from her.

"Foolish girl! Didn't Dumbledore tell you not to use magic in hiding? Anyone in the Ministry can detect magic usage from your wand and I can list at least five death eaters who would just love to find you."

The color flared in Hermione's cheeks for a moment as she let Snape take her wand and stash it somewhere in his robes. However, her confidence regained itself as she spat, "It must have been another one of the unpleasant surprises waiting for me."

The potions master stood up to his full height and towered over Hermione until she felt his hot breath on her face. He grabbed her shoulders firmly and spoke in a low, poisonous tone. "Don't you realize you are in the real world now, Miss Granger? This is no longer Hogwarts: The Dark Lord is alive right now hunting muggleborns, of which you are a part. Gods, take some responsibility for yourself because this may very well be the last day you will live to see!"

Hermione's eyes were bright and glossy as she wrenched herself free from Snape's grasp, but held her ground. She stared up into the teacher and growled, "You have no power over me here, Snape, so you might as well get off of your high horse and start treating me as your equal. Like it or not, we're stuck here together for who knows how long. I only respect as much as I am respected, so I would suggest treating me like what I am, a woman, and not your enemy!" With this, she stalked to the adjoining bedroom, leaving Snape speechless behind her.

.oOo.

Hermione opened the door to her chamber groggily, to find Snape reading her book by a spluttering fire. She kneaded her back; the bed was a royal pain to sleep on, and she was sure she had a bruise or two to prove it. She rubbed her eyes, rimmed red with stale tears. Dusk had descended in the room as she slept and now hung about like the frigid winter air outside the window that rested above the kitchen sink. She studied the professor: tall, and a bit thinner than she remembered. His abandoned robe sat wrapped on his previous chair, and the black sweater and trousers underneath did nothing to hide the bony wrists and fingers that traced each page of text. She noticed, with silent amusement, a strand of hair that fell in front of his eyes now and then as he read which was promptly pulled away by a bony hand, only to fall in his eyes again. She wondered if the reason behind his frailty was three months without magical cooking.

Hermione shivered in the evening, swallowed, and climbed into the tatty green armchair next to the fire. She noticed, as Snape lifted his eyes, he sat in the same place she had earlier. He gave her a bit of an awkward, relieved smile, such as the smile of one who has just eaten something particularly nasty but is trying to be polite. She assumed the gesture, however radical for Snape, was meant to be disarming. She found it disconcerting above all else, but returned the favor meekly.

"Your taste in literature surprises me," he offered lamely.

"Dumbledore gave it to me for you- as a bit of light reading."

"I see."

"How far along are you?"

"Ancient uses of goat's blood in medicines."

"Interesting."

The last embers collapsed on themselves in the fireplace as darkness invaded the conversation and its area.

"Drat," Snape muttered.

"Where are the matches?" Hermione's voice asked from somewhere to his near right. He paused for a moment until he remembered- that box with the wooden sticks.

"Underneath the sink, I believe."

"You believe? Haven't you used them?" Various crashes and clangs followed this, and an "aha!"

Snap, whoosh, and Hermione appeared holding a lit candle.

"The wick on this candle hasn't been burnt either- how have you seen these past months?"

"Well, I usually fall asleep as soon as it starts to get dark…"

Hermione set the candle on the wooden table with the bowl of fruit and lit another. Her stomach interrupted the silence followed shortly by Snape's.

"Haven't you eaten yet tonight?" she asked, as she explored various cupboards.

"I'm not very hungry."

"Nonsense," she insisted as she pulled out a can of soup and some bread. She emptied the soup into a saucepan and lit a match, turning on the gas stove as she held it in the burner. In moments the saucepan sat merrily warming as she set the wooden table with bowls and soup spoons. From the sofa, she heard low mutterings of, "So that's how you…"

Ten minutes later, two bowls of potato soup sat steaming in the rich candlelight. Snape raised an eyebrow as Hermione declared, "Dinner is served."

.oOo.

Snape stared into his bowl of soup as if it were a pensieve, ready to swallow him up into his thoughts.

"Professor, do we have a flashlight at all? Any electricity?" He looked up and stared at the girl in confusion.

"I can assure you, Miss Granger, no pureblood save Arthur Weasley would have any idea what you're talking about." She contemplated for a moment and nodded in resignation. He raised the spoon to his lips, delighting in the warm fluid that ran down his throat. Loathe to admit, this was the first hot meal he'd eaten in a month; he'd spent the majority of two hours attempting to start that pathetic fire. He didn't really know why he had done it, although he knew Miss Granger must have had her hand in it. For a long time he'd acknowledged she was brilliant, but perhaps more brilliant than he'd given her credit for. And in the last year, as they came in contact through the Order, he'd noticed the beginning of a glow start to surround her, the glow emanating from her in this candlelight.

However, he also realized how little he actually knew about her. She had muggle parents, of course, and she was friends with Potter and Weasley, a friendship the boys didn't deserve. She was intelligent beyond measure, perhaps one of the brightest witches in ages. Words could not express the sheer disbelief and excitement he felt as he began to read her book, at the difficulty of the material and at the prospect of finding a _companion _with which to discuss it. Something about that was very stimulating. He smirked as he recounted to himself how much he abhorred mediocrity. In fact, Miss Granger had been quite the breath of fresh air, one he constantly challenged to retain its coolness. However, she had surpassed his instruction long ago, and was close on surpassing his own knowledge level. Remarkable talent, he mused, wasted on a Gryffindor.

His spoon clanked gently into the empty bowl and he looked across at Hermione, who was swirling her untouched soup around in her own murky thoughts. How he wished to be one of those thoughts, to dance in the mind of someone so insightful, so clever, and so scintillating. If just to hear one more utterance from mouth would be a scholar's paradise. He waited in veiled anticipation for her speech.

"I-I suppose I'm not nearly as hungry as I felt," she said apologetically. She relapsed into silence again and stirred her soup a bit. "What do you imagine will happen to us?"

After a moment's consideration, he simply replied, "It is not our place to worry."

Not at all satisfied with this answer, she rose to return to her reading. Before he could stop himself, he found his hand hold her forearm gently as he said, "Please stay." He could tell the girl was on edge, and in an effort to dispel the tension, said, "Tell me about my replacement."

.oOo.

Hermione awoke on the sofa in a bundle of blankets to find the sun's rosy fingers brushing the interior of the cabin room with golden warmth. She smiled broadly as she recalled her conversation with the professor the night before- who knew he could be so entertaining? She filled the tea kettle with water and placed it on the stove, shivering slightly as she gazed out the window. Snow blanketed the ground thick and smooth, and above the treetops she could see the peaks of mountains. From behind her, she heard Snape open the door of the bedroom and pad across the worn floorboards to the water closet. This was the last she heard of him for a while, until he assumed he was presentable in a pair of slacks and a sweater almost identical to the garments he wore the previous day. She handed him a generous mug of tea, which he accepted silently. Minutes passed in this languid silence until Snape checked his watch and turned toward the fireplace, which he stared at attentively. Hermione turned as well, wondering what could have caught his attention so entirely, when a large parcel appeared right on the hearth.

"Dumbledore sends me packages every week," the professor explained, "and each one is a portkey. Since no one touches it when it leaves, it simply transports itself here."

Hermione nodded in understanding and followed him as he opened the box to find food supplies of various kinds, which he promptly threw aside, and a handful of letters. Hermione's letters contained those of Mrs. Weasley, Harry and Ron, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore, which she opened eagerly. Molly Weasley's letter was mostly taken up with kind words and hopes that she would be alright, while Harry and Ron's echoed frustration in the fact that she be stuck with a greasy bat of a teacher rather than themselves over the holidays. She laughed and Snape immediately snatched the parchment from her. To her surprise, he smirked and let out a deep, rich laugh, and she found it quite pleasant.

"..And if that perturbed Slytherin git tries anything on you, I mean anything, we'll be there sooner than you can say Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!" He clutched his side and laughed again. "Why you befriended them, I have no idea. Their minds are duller than Binns' lectures."

"They mean well," she retorted, "and they honestly care about me. Although there are times…" Yes, there were times when she felt entirely alone near them. Times like when they would desperately try to copy her assignments, or when they would babble on and on about quidditch, or when time came to pick partners for school projects. During those times, three was a crowd, and Hermione had no need for crowds when her mind was trying to grow. She opened the last letter, Dumbledore's.

_Hermione,_

_I hope you and Severus will find some sort of friendship in the midst of this battle. You know how important the unity between all four houses is during these troubled times. I understand Severus is not the easiest man to talk to, but give him time and treat him well, and you may become pleasantly surprised with the outcome. I do not blame him for his rash actions, as I do not blame Tom Riddle for his. You see, each word we say to one another plays an important role in not only our relationships between others, but in the person themselves. Remember Professor Snape has been through more than any man or woman should bear._

_From the moment I saw you striding up to the Sorting Hat that evening in your first year, I recognized something about your stance- confident, bright, and challenging, that I recognized in Severus and Professor McGonagall, if you can imagine. I thought to myself, now there's someone truly interesting, and what do you know, I'm right! Then I turned to my cranberries and those were delicious, I must admit, better than ever._

_I suppose this is all a roundabout way of telling you that you are capable of more than you realize. Harry is the one with the prophecy, and therefore gets the most glory, true, but you are vital. I am afraid you might not be rejoining us at Hogwarts by graduation, so I consider you here forth an adult, a colleague, and most importantly, a friend. I know you can do great things, Hermione, and I look forward to speaking with you again._

_Yours in Truth,_

_Albus_

Hermione tried to swallow the tears threatening to spill and set the letter down, smiling weakly. She noticed Snape eyeing her and turned away. He turned back to his letter to examine the rest. "Oh, bugger." He murmured, disgusted.

"What?" Hermione asked, leaving the hearth to prepare a small breakfast.

"Gryffindor is leading the house cup by nearly eighty points." Snape explained. "Dumbledore told me in his letter he didn't expect us to return by graduation," she said.

"I know," he responded, "though I'm not sure what he's planning to do for your NEWTs."

"Oh," Hermione clutched her stomach, "I feel sick thinking about it already. I honestly should be studying. If only I had the sense to pack my schoolbooks with me…"

Snape frowned. "You must be joking. You could have passed the potions NEWT at fifth year."

Hermione shook her head. "No, the ingredients we've been using are far more advanced than those."

"I didn't say you would ace it, but you had the ability. All you needed was a list of ingredients and their attributes to memorize."

"Professor," she turned away from the kitchen sink, "was that a compliment?"

"Never," a retaliation, "should such things be wasted on a Gryffindor," Hermione's eyes narrowed, "It wasn't a compliment, simply the truth." With this her eyes lifted and she gave him a small smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Dreadfully sorry to keep everyone waiting so long, final exams are this week and I've been studying forever. Thanks for all the kind reviews!

"_We have been busy accumulating solace.  
Make us afraid of how we were."_

- Rumi, "The Core of Masculinity"

* * *

Evening met Draco's gaze bitterly from the moment he stepped into the headmaster's office. Gone were the subtle shades of lavender that soothed hot grass and cobblestone. The gentle zephyrs that cooled the sweat on the back of necks now breathed upon some other fortunate castle. Each day now brought new unpleasant surprises, as the fourth years who claimed the courtyard as their base fort; pelting each intruder with slush, even prefects. In fact, the only thing that seemed constant was Orion's nightly visit somewhere far above the sky's slate cover.

"Draco! What a pleasant surprise; please, do sit down." Dumbledore smiled warmly at the boy as he scowled and assumed his usual seat. "You're just in time for tea, care for a cup?" The boy shook his head slowly and stared at his twiddling fingers. "Oh, it's probably just as well. Now tell me what brings you here."

"Headmaster, you know as well as I why I am here." Draco muttered.

"Of course, dear boy, of course. Lemon drop?" Draco shook his head again.

"The last meeting was unproductive. The Dark Lord is displeased with a number of the Death Eaters for their failed attempts to capture an auror to hold as hostage. As far as I know, he believes Snape dead and Granger at the Order headquarters."

"Indeed," Dumbledore mused for a while, "And Pettigrew?"

"He spends the majority of his time in animagus form trying to find information. However, he rarely finds any. One cannot travel far as a rat."

"This is true," Dumbledore looked into the boy's impassioned eyes. "Is there anything else you wished to share with me?"

Draco broke eye contact and stared at his fingers again. "No sir, nothing."

"Very well," the headmaster said tiredly, "you may leave."

Draco stood swiftly and stalked out of the office as the fire crackled green. Alastor Moody's head appeared and stared at the departing boy and growled.

"Albus, was that Draco Malfoy?" Moody asked.

"Yes, Alastor, it was." Dumbledore slowly lowered himself into a scarlet chair by the fire.

Moody growled again and cursed under his breath. "He's carrying a vial of unicorn's blood in his pocket. I don't trust him, Albus, something about him is nasty and you know it too."

"I've noticed certain behaviors of his, yes, but the Order has little choice at this point. I'm afraid until Voldemort is taken care of, Draco is indispensable."

"Yes, and he _knows _it, too. Albus, we can't go on waiting for Voldemort to make the first move. That's what's happened time and time again, and Harry's barely scraped out of it alive. We need a plan."

"You're right, of course," Dumbledore sighed. "While Firenze has been trying to reason with the centaurs, he is making relatively little progress. Hagrid assures me Aragog and the spiders will help our cause, but I do not trust that at all. We have about five giants supporting our cause, and maybe more half giants. At the moment, we are at a standstill. All we can do is keep every auror out of harm's way. Is Godric's Hollow standing?"

"Yes, Shacklebolt, Tonks, and I checked it out today. It'll take some renovations, of course, but the foundation is still strong. All in all, it's in good condition. I suggest moving headquarters from Grimmauld Place as soon as possible before Kreacher hears of our intent."

"I agree. Inform the aurors I plan to institute the ceremony this Saturday. We will meet here in my office and portkey together at five in the morning. No risk must be taken."

"Very well, Albus, I place my trust in you. If you will excuse me, I'll inform them at once." Moody's head vanished from the fire, which settled to glowing embers.

Dumbledore stared out the window for a while at the charcoal sky and the Forbidden Forest. A large tawny owl sailed across the snow to approach a distant tower of the castle. The silence made the headmaster uneasy.

Draco rewarded the owl with a freshly caught mouse and quickly opened its parchment. The handwriting, rough and jagged, only said the following:

_Draco-_

_I read your letter and will be expecting you no later than noon. Come prepared. _

_-Karkaroff _

Draco grinned sharply and set the note aflame, leaving it to burn on the stone floor. Evidence destroyed. The library really was a handy place, without that infernal mudblood haunting it.

.oOo.

Hermione shifted comfortably beneath the thick woolen blanket she had grown so accustomed to. Pale sunlight streamed from the small windows of the cabin onto her face and she smiled in the warmth, though she kept her eyes closed. How long she had been awake, she didn't know. Perhaps past nine, or ten. It didn't really matter here anyway. The past days had entered her mind as such a dream, she woke with surprise each morning to find herself upon the same couch. Not that she minded, really. There were no flippantly superficial girls to wake her up late at night, and no Gryffindor parties, and certainly no pranks to fall victim to. Conversation rarely turned to quidditch, and there were absolutely no Slytherins, save one.

She opened her eyes to see Dumbledore's package, abnormally large, sitting on the hearth. There was no sign of the Professor yet, and she certainly didn't want to invade his privacy. She knew it was only polite to wait until he woke to open the package, but she wanted to read the reassuring words of her friends. She ripped open the box to find the weekly food rations as well as Crookshanks, nestled in his favorite tatty blanket. He looked around, rather confused, before Hermione picked him up and stroked him for what seemed like eternity. Oh, how she had missed him. At least, she had, until he started shedding all over her and the contents of the package. She set him on her woolen blanket and pulled out the letters.

Hermione was halfway through Dumbledore's letter when Snape stumbled bleary-eyed into the room with his hair desperately disheveled. The first thing she noticed about him was his attire- only a pair of black pajama pants- didn't he get cold at night? The second was that he didn't look half bad shirtless; Hermione cringed at that, she shouldn't be having such thoughts about teachers, _especially _Snape.

Severus Snape puzzled at her expression until he realized his state of undress, rushing – no- walking briskly back to the bedroom to change. She decided he must have been tired and prepared the coffee pot and the stove. Dumbledore's letter was optimistic, as always, but she felt as though he wasn't telling her everything, even though he claimed to consider her his colleague. Apparently the battle still hadn't happened, and both sides were in a standstill. Gryffindor still led the house cup. This time, however, he included a wizard photograph, taken by Colin Creevy, no doubt, of the faculty. Professor McGonagall smiled broadly to her and waved demurely, and Hagrid's eyes twinkled as much as Dumbledore's. Hermione sniffed to herself at the sight of her friends, even Sybil Trelawney, to an extent. She placed it on the mantle over the fireplace.

The professor entered again struggling against his tangled tresses with a vicious looking wire brush. Hermione set two cups of coffee on the table. "You're going to rip out all your hair that way, you know."

Snape surveyed her before retorting, "As if I should take hair advice from you, Miss Granger."

She realized the comment had no bite in it and replied, "Letters are here, I'll see to breakfast. You may borrow my brush if you wish."

Ten minutes later, the pair sat quietly eating muffins and jam, reading over the rest of the letters. "Apparently, Neville has wonderful marks in Potions this semester," Snape snorted. "I wonder what that twit is teaching him."

"Ron says Potions is more like a philosophy lesson, now. The teacher's been trying to get them to 'rid their consciousness of Self' and 'join the Soul of the World' in order to make themselves pure."

"Sounds more like Alchemy to me than Potions," Snape replied. "Though, if we have the Elixir of Life on our side, I won't be complaining."

"Sir, who brews the Wolfsbane Potion for Remus now?"

"Dumbledore, I expect. He studied potions extensively after graduating."

Hermione stared at him skeptically. "Miss Granger, not all Potions masters are evil," he raised an eyebrow and smirked, "only me."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

Thanks reviewers, it's finally summer so I'll try and start updating more. This has been a difficult chapter to write, but hopefully you'll like it!

Edit: 03/03/07

Well I never really liked this chapter too much (part of the reason I didn't update) so I rewrote the last bit. Hopefully in the future my chapters will be longer, I've always had trouble with that. It's good to be back!

* * *

Harry absentmindedly stroked the matted velvet of his chair and watched the fire. In the black tar darkness of the room, it attracted his attention as a candle to a gnat. His eyes narrowed when the fire spit sparks onto the dusty floor, but remained golden. Bella placed her bony fingers on his arm.

"Master, Wormtail is late," she murmured, stroking his robe sleeve, "and if memory serves, this is not his first offense."

Harry turned his head and placed his right hand over hers, staring at the fire reflected off her eyes. She batted her lashes coquettishly. He clamped his fingers around her hand and twisted it until her wrist gave a sickening crack.

"Bella," he began, "You have served me well for the last twenty years or more, have you not?" She winced in pain and nodded. "You know every facet of my character, every habit, every mannerism," a tear fell from her cheek and she grimaced. "so naturally, you should understand the Dark Lord chooses his own right hand." She nodded quickly and the fire crackled green, stirring up plumes of dust from the hearth. Wormtail fell at the feet of his master.

"My Lord," he whimpered as Harry glared down at him in disgust. "I pr-promise this information will be worth your most _valuable _time…"

"Out with it, Wormtail,"

"My-my Lord, I spoke with the young Malfoy. The next Hogsmeade weekend is the first of February."

Harry grinned and stood from his chair, turning and pulling Bella up by the wrist as he joined her scream. Oh dear.

The class was staring at him again, he felt, although all he could see was Ron's mop of hair and freckles swirling in and out of focus. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Ron helped Harry back up onto his satin pouf. From the front of the room, Professor Trelawney gave Harry a sympathetic gaze. Harry glared.

"My, the _sight _is a heavy burden, is it not, my child?"

"Yeah, right," Harry muttered, clutching his forehead and groping blindly for the door. The incense and sweltering heat of the class made him nauseous. "I'm going to the infirmary."

"No, do stay and discuss-"

"I'm _going to the infirmary." _Harry repeated between clenched teeth as he found the brass doorknob and wrenched it open to descend through the trap door. Bloody hell. As if divination had anything to do with being an auror, anyway.

.oOo.

Hermione sat at the hearth with a pocket knife in a pile of wood shavings. The professor preferred the couch. She ran her hand along the smooth edged surface of the wood. Something still wasn't quite right- she carved some more.

"May I ask what, again, you are doing?" Snape looked up from his reading to sneer at the mess of curled wood chips on the floor.

"It's called _whittling_, though you may understand it easier as wood carving," Hermione retorted, "my father taught me during our summers in the countryside."

"And what are you _carving?_"

"Hestia," Hermione said, "I thought it only appropriate to set it near the fireplace."

"Anything for entertainment, I suppose," Snape concluded, and returned to his reading.

Hermione thought on this a while, and then asked, "Why are you so different from a few months ago? You seem more relaxed and-dare I say it- amiable."

Snape looked up again in surprise. "Well, I suppose it's because I haven't been close to those empty-headed pupils of mine for a quarter of a year," Hermione glowered at him, "The Dark Lord is virtually nonexistent to me, and Black is finally out of my hair." He snapped this last part out quickly and returned to his book, failing to notice Hermione's eyes narrow.

"You're only happy now that Sirius is _dead?_" Hermione threw down her tools and stood above Snape. "I cannot _believe _you! How dare you even consider such a feeling!"

Snape tossed his book onto the couch and grabbed Hermione's collar, boring scornful holes into her eyes. "You, young girl, have much to learn about respecting your _elders,_" he spit venomously, "although everyone in the Order remembers him as a 'good man who battled Pettigrew,' I tell you, I know the rotten _truth _about both him and James. Would I not have reason to celebrate their deaths after seven years of torture?"

"Sirius died saving Harry's life!" Hermione protested, struggling against the potions master to release his hold on her robes, "More than you can say, you weren't even at that battle! Sirius served thirteen years in Azkaban for trying to bring justice to Harry's betrayer! You have no idea what is rotten and what isn't! If he was that selfish, why did _he_ die for Harry instead of you?"

Snape released his hold on her robes to clutch her arms firmly. "I put my life on the line for that brat every single Death Eater meeting I have to attend. You cannot tell me I am at fault, when I've done a hell of a lot more than Black has! You know what got him killed? His own reckless lack of _common sense_! That's why Potter was so attached to him, he didn't even care for safety, but paraded all around in his animagus form just to have fun, just like the old days."

"Sirius was Harry's _friend_, as well as mine. He was a good man and died a hero to our cause. Meanwhile, what are you doing here, but sitting in hiding while everyone else rids the world of your master and his Death Eater scum!"

"Don't you _dare _insinuate the Dark Lord is still my master! You know nothing of me or Sirius' true nature, you ignorant chit!"

"Oh, I know enough of you to despise you, and that is enough for me! I cannot believe Dumbledore would ever place me here!" Hermione's knees buckled and Snape released his hold on her arms, watching her fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Dead silence filled the room except for Hermione's heavy sobbing until she ran to the bedroom doorway. Turning to face the professor, she spit, "I thought something about you had changed, Snape, but you proved me wrong. You're awfully immature for such an old man." With that, the door slammed shut.

.oOo.

Hermione sighed softly, wiping her eyes as she sat up in bed. Three fitful hours of sleep did nothing to remedy the redness around her eyes. Everything had changed- she felt somewhat comfortable around him, for a day or two, but now here she was, back where she started. She missed her wool blanket and opened the door of the bedroom slowly. Snape sat on the couch reading again, although he had prepared a tray of tea, which sat on the table. Her blood boiled seeing his obviously calm demeanor.

Snape looked up from his reading and forced a smile. "Tea?" he offered, motioning to the table. Obviously this was the wrong thing to say by the look in her eyes.

"Stop this!" Hermione seethed, slamming the bedroom door behind her as she stepped into the main room.

"Stop what?" Snape asked just as calmly, setting his book down softly on the couch.

"Stop- this!" Hermione motioned wildly with her hands, "Stop acting as though everything is fine, when you know perfectly well it's not! It worked the first time, but it's not going to work again! This time, I'm going to tell you what I really think of you!"

"And what might that be?" Snape forced another intentionally disarming smile.

"You're a conceited, slimy, self-centered, greasy, serpentine, two faced, brutish, crooked, hook nosed, sinuous _miscreant_ of a teacher!"

"Care to sit down? You look exhausted."

"Oh bloody- fine." Hermione slumped beside him on the couch. "Just this time. But don't think acting like Dumbledore is going to get you very far with me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Hardly a minute later, Hermione's head drooped onto the potion master's shoulder as her breathing became deep and regulated. He smirked and laid her down on the couch, covering her with her blanket, taking his reading to the battered armchair near the fire. The peace didn't last. His left arm became slowly warmer, then feverish.

"Shit," Snape muttered, closing his book and heading to the bedroom.

Hermione woke with a start. "What are you doing?"

Snape turned to face the fireplace. "You need to promise me you will _not _enter the bedroom no matter what you may hear, okay?"

Hermione rubbed her eyes and stared at Snape's long back. He seemed serious, at least. "Okay then,"

"Okay. Stay here whatever happens." Snape rubbed his arm quickly and returned to the bedroom, closing the door tight.

I wonder what's going on, Hermione thought, when a groan echoed from the room. She started from the couch, then returned. Bloody promises. But what in Merlin's name could be going on? A scream erupted, followed quickly by another. She wrung her hands nervously and stared at the figure of Hestia on the fireplace mantle. The room was spinning and she felt nauseous.

She curled up tightly, tried to melt into the couch, tried to silence the heavy, painful growls coming from the closed door in her mind. After all, wasn't the perception of sound just an electrical impulse? She hated everything.

The minutes seemed to pass in lifetimes, as Hermione sat on the ratty couch in an ocean of wood flooring, afraid she might drown on her way to the bedroom. Eventually the screams subsided to muffled sobs. Hermione lay prone on the sofa, stranded and marooned on a small, upholstered island. The room fell dark and cold. Hestia gazed upon her subject with mild curiosity.

.oOo.

When Snape still hadn't emerged from the room the next morning, Hermione began to worry. Had it happened before? What exactly happened in the first place? Hermione remembered how Harry acted when his scar burned. Perhaps it was somehow linked.

She stood and tried the closed door, which opened hollowly into the empty room, save a bed. Snape was spread across the floor near the far corner, his mouth slightly open and eyes closed. She was relieved to find him asleep. His left robe sleeve had been pulled up to his elbow, and splotches of red blistering and black ink marred his forearm. Suddenly, she wasn't quite so relieved.

"Professor," Hermione said quietly, willing him to wake. She pulled him slightly away from the corner where he had vomited sometime during the night. The sun was sickly as it came in through the window, fading in and out as clouds passed above somewhere distant and far away. She wanted to apologize, to do something, to say anything to make this moment disappear. The kitchen sink dripped in the other room, calling her to wet a dishcloth to place on his arm. She would in a minute.

Hermione stood, a black-robed figure against the ivory plastered walls, Snape's limp form like her shadow. It was quiet as the cold, dark earth. "Professor, I'm sorry."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

JKR owns all the characters I am so fond of.

* * *

In the hours that followed, time idled and passed in measurements of sound: the soft slap of wet cloth on skin, the gentle heave and thrust of a pillow under raven hair, and the echoing, cyclic breaths that whirled like dust motes, an afterthought brought to attention in the morning sun.

What causes the chest of a Potions professor to rise and fall as slow and as surely as the waves of the ocean is no mystery. It is magic, the substance that permeates each living thing and object, from the beginning of time. It is the soul's will to exist, and it exists by its will, as does any spell. That this existence is defined by one's soul in turn defines the soul, for no two lives can share the same prophecy.

Hermione suspected Snape had been conscious for far longer than he chose to display it, as that was his way. The floorboards and walls had been scrubbed down and shone, glistening and pale, all around. Snow was a scant few centimeters below the window's edge. The air was frigid as there was no fireplace in this room, and yet she had been reluctant to move him again. Instead, the thick wool blanket from the sofa had been draped over him and a glass of purified water sat next to his head where he lay.

He didn't say anything, but merely opened his eyes in one wide, decisive action. Hermione sat next to him on the floor, her back to the damp, clean wall, and flipped the page of her book. She glanced at him and gave him a wan sort of half-smile. He didn't dare look at anything but the way her soft, childlike hand toyed with the edge of the fresh page. It was a few moments before he spoke.

"I apologize."

Hermione glanced over at him again with that strange sort of smile, and shifted, steadying herself by placing her hand near his own.

"That's ridiculous."

His eyebrows knitted together as he frowned. "How so?"

She opened her mouth as if to respond, then hesitated, and closed it. Her eyes were warm, and he felt them on him, even though he only stared at her hand.

"You should have some water, then something to eat. I've taken care of everything."

Snape began to respond, but thought better of it, as her hand tentatively neared his, then pulled away. She stood and moved to exit, knowing he would see the fresh set of robes she had laid out for him on the bed, when he was ready. Time was measured in the soft closing of the bedroom door.

.oOo.

Harry bit into his chocolate from one of the seats of the Headmaster's office, somewhat satisfied with his ability to spy on Voldemort's goings-on, yet still drained from the ordeal since yesterday afternoon.

Dumbledore gazed at him grimly from behind his half-moon glasses.

"And you say Voldemort was...pleased, by this news?" he murmured softly.

"Yes, Headmaster. He seemed...in action. He stood and was about to do something before I was pulled out of the vision."

Dumbledore hummed. "Then it is not unlikely that Voldemort is planning to mount his attack on Hogwarts during that weekend. That is, if we can take what you saw to heart."

Harry bowed his head. It was true that he might have been carried away by the vision, as he had done in the past. Voldemort certainly had the ability to control what Harry saw if he chose fit. Was this a happy accident, or something set up for him to see?

"As it remains," Dumbledore continued, "we cannot be sure of what you saw, or the intent of the man whom you lived through for those few moments. We must keep the matter quiet, and be ever vigilant and cautious. If your vision is true, we have less time than we think to prepare for the battle."

Harry nodded, realizing that this was the visit's conclusion. He gazed at the headmaster once more before heading toward the door. Dumbledore watched after the boy's retreating back, and placed his chin on his palm.

.oOo.

Hermione was worried about something, Snape noticed, from the unconscious and slight wringing of her hands and the way she gently walked to one side of the room, then the other. He wasn't prideful enough to assume it was completely about him. The oatmeal was hot and thick against his ribs and somewhere deep down, stuck to him, kind of like the girl who had prepared it for him. He didn't doubt she had lain awake most of the night, as he did, until sleep finally took hold of him. He wished she would sleep now, on the sofa with that wool blanket against him, the way she had the previous evening.

"You have something on your mind." He stated it without a questioning inflection. It was truth.

Hermione flushed a little as he drew her sharply out of her mental wanderings. "Yes..."

"You will speak to me about it?" Snape questioned, raising his eyebrow as he carried his dishes to the sink at the kitchenette.

Hermione sat down on the sofa. Good. "I don't know where to begin." She sighed. She was slightly aware of Snape moving about the cabin, but was surprised when his arms gently surrounded her shoulders as he placed the wool blanket about her. Her breath hitched at the oddly intimate gesture, but she felt more at ease when he moved to sit next to her.

"There was a revel last night." She stated as he had a moment ago, not questioning. Knowing. Her eyes flicked to his left forearm, but it was concealed by the sleeve of his robe.

"Yes."

"That means Malfoy must be tired today. Tired as you must have been for all those years."

Snape swallowed and repeated his response. "Yes."

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes searching and her knee pressing into his. "I am worried. I'm not just worried for Malfoy, or Harry, or Ron, or Dumbledore. I'm worried for all of them, truly, but I'm also worried for us. What if we miss a package?"

Snape nodded, well aware that their weekly gift sustained them through the winter when they were all but snowed in already. "I have considered that thought myself, Miss Granger. If, by any means, we miss one or two packages, we have a food supply hidden in the cellar." Hermione's eyes widened at this revelation, but he continued. "We may also use magic in case of emergencies. And remember, there is one such branch of magic that does not leave any residual traces of wand energy."

A look of realization flashed across Hermione's face as Snape raised an eyebrow, softly smiling. Somewhere, he felt guiltily, he wanted this recognition. He wanted to be praised by the lovely, young Hermione Granger. Since when had their roles become reversed? Hermione smiled back at him, obviously aware of his implication and his expertise in said field. "Where's the cellar?" She asked sweetly.

He frowned and pulled away from her then, back straightening as fluid and dark as iron. If any progress had been made in those few moments, it was gone. Hermione's face fell. It was an attempt to draw him out of the dragging melancholy of the morning, and it had failed. Quick to try and repair the conversation, she added, "If I'm to make full use of your expertise, we need a workspace. I'm glad to have you here, Professor."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm touched, Miss Granger." It was said scathingly, but she could feel his muscles and tendons relaxing next to her, his body easing into the faded cushions, and she knew that somehow she had made it better.

She truly was curious about the underground storeroom, but she couldn't bring herself to move from the couch in what was one of the few comfortable moments she'd had in weeks. She let her head slide back against the sofa and focused on the warmth and scratchiness of the wool blanket. The room was still except for her housemate's cyclic breathing. She was asleep in minutes.


End file.
